I'm Sorry
by powertrash
Summary: Dan comes home for Rachel's funeral.


Dan stepped off the plane matter-of-factly, brushed a few stray crumbs off his suit and, barely swinging the briefcase, made his way to baggage claim. The airport was busier than normal and he hurried through the crowd, glancing impatiently at his watch.

It was a small airport and he was always a light packer. He found his luggage easily and went to stand by the double door entrance. Naomi would be here any second to pick him up—pick him up for—for—

"Sir?"

He blinked. A young security guard stood there, with a rather forced authority. "I need to see your I.D?"

Dan looked at him. "For?"

The man wiped his palms on his suit and raised his chest, trying to sound forceful. Ending every sentence in a question didn't help the image, though, and Dan smirked to himself. "I need to see your I.D. and check it on, you know, your baggage? So that we know you're not stealing anything?"

Reaching around to his back pocket, Dan pulled out his driver's license and handed it to the man.

"Dan Berenson?" the young man said, and suddenly he appeared even more nervous, "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, sir. You're here for—oh—I'm sorry for the trouble sir. Have a nice day." And with that, he scurried away.

It went unspoken, but it stung just as much.

He was here for his daughter's funeral, something no parent should ever be forced to see. He was here to see his Rachel—his beautiful, brave Rachel—lowered into the ground. His daughter who had so much on her shoulders for so long, an unbearable burden that he couldn't have helped her with. He hadn't even known, hadn't been there with her. And now she was dead.

"Daddy?"

"Hey there, Jordan," he smiled at her, scooping her up into his arms. "How are you?"

Jordan buried her face into her father's shoulder, burrowing into him. "I've missed you Dad. I thought—"

He hugged her close to him, "It doesn't matter. It's okay, honey."

"No," Jordan, mumbled, her face pressed into his jacket, "It'll never be okay."

Dan cursed himself. What was he supposed to say to that? What was a father supposed to say to his daughter—his daughters that went through hell without him? He felt inept, useless, and unneeded. A chunk of him was ripped out. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have not known something was wrong in Rachel's life? How could he have failed to take care of his child?

He held her for a few more seconds, and then released her, "C'mon, honey. We gotta go see your mother."

---

"Pass me the bottle?" Dan asked his wife as he titled back the wine glass, swallowing the last drops.

It was late. Jordan and Sarah were in bed, in a rental home that the government had provided them. It their way of thanking them, maybe, their way of making up for being blind to the threat that was too real to their daughter.

Naomi passed it to him, her arm stretching out slowly, lazily, her glassy eyes resting on the wall. "Oh, Jesus…"

"You never could handle your wine," Dan said dryly.

She gave a sharp and bitter laugh, "It's not that. I'm completely sober, unfortunately. But oh, Jesus…"

"Naomi, when I moved away—"

"There was no way you could have known, Dan," she said, looking down at her hands. "She was so good at covering it up. No one ever suspected."

"What—did she—"

"When I look back on it now," she said, taking a swallow of the wine, "all the signs where there. Her grades slipped, she spent more and more time away, she was angry all the time, but I thought it was just part of being a teenager."

"I guess they don't pass out "Warning Signs Your Daughter is Leading a Fight Against Alien Invaders" handbooks, do they?" he said bitterly.

She grabbed the bottle and filled up both glasses again, "No. I still can't believe Rachel—my Rachel—went through hell for years and I didn't even catch on."

"She tried to tell me once. I—I should have known something was wrong. I should have known her well enough—"

"You? You didn't live with her the whole time. You would have figured it out," she said, finishing the glass in one swallow, "I didn't even pay attention. I guess you blame me, huh?"

"No."

"Then who do you blame?"

---

Jake stood by himself at the viewing, hands tucked behind his back. He glanced around hopelessly, eyes never slowing down until they settled on the casket. He didn't want to go nearer, say his last goodbyes—he didn't want it to be real. He didn't want to see how well she wore death, didn't want to see her lying so still and peaceful, a mockery of what she was.

His parents, freed, tried to comfort him. They tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't have made any other choice. But the voices of Sarah, Jordan and his aunt echoed in his head. Tobias's glare would be forever scorched across his heart. He didn't know what to do, and at this point there was no right answer. There was no right way. He screwed up. He murdered her.

Cassie stood there with her family, shaking hands, smiling, tears running silently down her cheeks. Sarah clung to her legs, not letting go, not wanting to move, and Cassie wouldn't make her. He wanted to go see her; he wanted to be near her, but even that comfort he denied himself. Murderers shouldn't be loved.

He caught Naomi's eye, and turned quickly to move away. She shook her head, motioned for him to come see her. Moving slowly, he made his way over and stood in line.

"I-I'm so sorry," he mumbled, unable to look at her.

She nodded, crying.

"Oh. So you're here," Dan said, looking at Jake. "I didn't think you'd have the ball to show up."

Jake said, "I'm sorry. I—I would give anything—"

"Yeah? Well, I'd give anything to have my daughter back too. But it's not going to happen. You know why? Because you killed her. You murdered my daughter. And if you think I'm going to forget that you took the most valuable thing in my life away from me—" he raised his fist and punched Jake in the face.

Everyone turned to look. Naomi grabbed her husband's hand, but he wrestled out of her grip.

"Dan—stop!" she yelled, but he reached out and punched Jake again. Jake stumbled and fell to the ground. Cassie rushed to Jakes side, but he ignored her.

Jake made no move to stand up, "I–"

Dan kicked him again, in the stomach, hard. Jake didn't even try to block him. "Get out of here," Dan growled, "get the hell out and let me remember my daughter in peace."

Jake stood up slowly and looked Dan in the eye, "I'm sorry," he said, and, casting one last look at the casket, left.

---

"I'm sorry, Rach," Dan said, standing alone at her grave. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry I failed you, sorry I didn't notice. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you.

"You were so strong. I didn't think you needed any help. You could take anyone, beat anything. You were the toughest girl I ever knew. And I know if anyone could have saved the world, it'd have to be you.

"I'm sorry I hurt Jake. Cassie, she—that's a good friend you had there. She explained to me how brave you were. How you faced your death with such fearlessness. Gee, Rach, honey, I can't be more proud of you. I just wish I could have told you that to your face.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to watch you grow up those last years. I wish I could rewrite the past, and gee, Rach, I would if I could. I'd give anything to see you again. _Anything._"

He sighed, his chest expanding and contracting in the cool February air. He tossed a red rose down at the foot of her grave, and it lay there, away from all of the other flowers, stark against the brown grass.

"I guess all I want to say is I'm sorry. I miss you, Rach, and I'm sorry."


End file.
